


The Sleeper Wakes

by goldenwanderer



Category: Mass Effect, Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bering and Wells AU Week, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1789354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenwanderer/pseuds/goldenwanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Myka Bering died in a mysterious attack two years ago. Now, somewhere in a Cerberus facility, she's waking up again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sleeper Wakes

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, I developed a cast list for a Warehouse 13/Mass Effect AU 'verse (you can see the full list on my [tumblr](http://goldenwanderer.tumblr.com/post/84657367256/warehouse-effect-cast-list)). I'm much better at thinking of AUs than actually finding the muse to write them, but in honor of Bering and Wells AU Week 2014, I tidied up the only bit of something I had written that is more than a few sentences.
> 
> This story jumps right into the beginning of Mass Effect 2. You should be able to keep up even if you haven't played the games.

There is nothing but darkness for a very long time. 

(Though, given the absence of time, that is perhaps not the most accurate statement. In truth, for what may or may not be a very long time, there is simply _nothing_.)

Then, slowly, the darkness gives way to dreams. The dreams are far from pleasant, and might be considered nightmares if the dreamer were conscious enough to feel frightened. The images race through the dreamer’s head, overlapping and merging at random, never fully taking form. A four-eyed monster surrounded by fire. Metal spikes as tall as trees, impaling what may once have been human flesh. Pages of old-fashioned paper books floating in the wind. Starlight and empty space and a space station jutting out into the night. Gunfire and explosions and ruins. The empty eyes of a broken girl. The reassuring smile of a blond man about to die. 

Sound breaks through and the dreamer’s eyes blink open. Darkness bursts into light, white light, too bright and blinding. The dreamer’s head twists at the sound of a voice. The dreamer’s hands reach out, grasping for anything. 

“It’s too soon. Give her more of the sedative.”

The meaning of the words is beyond the dreamer’s grasp. The voice, however, is beautiful.

The face, angelic in the dreamer’s blurred vision, is even more so.

Sounds begin to fade. Darkness closes in. 

The dreams resume, less chaotic than before, but no less unpleasant.

Then, there is the voice again, and Myka Bering begins to wake.

~~*~~

The pounding of her heart is her first sensation, mismatched by the blaring of an alarm from somewhere. The light is blinding even from behind closed eyelids and so Myka does not try to open them. 

Then all she feels is pain. Waking to pain is nothing new. Myka knows the feeling well, knows she can push through it. Still her hand moves automatically to her abdomen, where the pain seems to be centered (though truthfully the pain is everywhere and trying to pinpoint it precisely is useless). Her brain immediately begins sifting through medical knowledge, gathered through years of reading and training, but finds nothing that fits what she’s feeling. 

There isn’t time to worry about that, because the voice is back again. Accented, commanding, entrancing. Though Myka dismisses that last assessment as the result of still-blossoming consciousness.

“Commander, wake up. This station is under attack. You need to get out of that bed, _now_.”

The words barely register as Myka struggles to regain her language faculties, but the phrase “under attack” echoes in her ears and easily worms its way through her consciousness. Her entire body aches and the motion of sitting upright sends pain shooting through her abdomen. But Myka is a soldier, trained to rush into danger at a moment’s notice no matter how strong the pain is, and every instinct in her body – and the voice from nowhere – is telling her to _move_.

Myka opens her eyes at last, blinking rapidly as pure white light floods in and overwhelms her. She looks around the room, trying to discern her location. It looks like a hospital or medical facility of some sort. Myka remembers nearly every place she’s ever been, but this room is unfamiliar. 

“Commander, I know you’re tired, and your scars haven’t had time to heal properly. You shouldn’t even be awake yet. But there are hostiles closing in on your location and you need to get moving.”

Myka frowns. Hostiles in a hospital? Well, she’s seen stranger things. It takes several tries before her voice comes out clear enough to be understood. “I need a gun,” she says, hoping the communication channel with the bodiless voice works both ways.

“You’re in a medlab,” the voice answers with a bitter laugh, and Myka is at once relieved and frustrated. “There aren’t any.”

“Perfect,” Myka mutters. The thought seems strange to her, that the med techs wouldn’t have at least a pistol stored away in case of an emergency, especially if this is the sort of place where hostiles might be found. Dr. Calder hates guns, Myka remembers, hates the idea of using them, but she always keeps a pistol in a locker beneath her desk, just in case. “Any suggestions?”

“Not many, I’m afraid. The security mechs appear to have been tampered with. I’ve been attempting to regain control remotely, but I haven’t the proper access.” The voice pauses for a moment, as if considering. “If you can manage to disable the mechs from your location, you might be able to appropriate their firearms.”

It isn’t a great plan – Isn’t a plan at all, really – but Myka has no better ideas. “Guess I’ll give that a shot, then.”

“Good luck, darling.”

Myka freezes at the term of endearment, so casually dropped into conversation, as though the owner of the voice _knows_ her. Then Myka shakes her head and focuses on getting herself all the way out of bed. She has bigger problems than a voice that, for some reason, sounds familiar. 

Problems like trying to disable security mechs without any weapons or a fully-functional body. Perhaps if Myka can find an omni-tool, she can try to disable the mechs from a distance. That’s what Kladya would do if she were here. Myka’s own tech training is limited, even after her ICT courses and – more importantly – Kladya’s attempts at instruction, but Myka is reasonably confident she can handle a few mechs. Or at least, she hopes so. 

~~*~~

Fifteen minutes later, Myka is running (or rather, walking as quickly as she can manage) through the frustratingly unmarked walls of the unfamiliar facility. She’s dressed in the outfit she woke in (which is really more hospital gown than outfit) and a plain white lab coat she found tossed over a chair. The lack of armor, or even proper clothing, makes Myka a little nervous, though she supposes she handled most of the fight on Elysium without armor, and all of this is _nothing_ compared to that nightmare. At least she isn’t without weapons now. The omni-tool Myka found in the lab and the pistol she took from a security mech aren’t the best quality, but Myka will make do. 

For a while, the voice had followed her, eventually identifying itself (at Myka’s insistence) as Helena. Myka has only ever met one other Helena – a leader of a crime syndicate – but with the accent, this Helena is decidedly not her. Myka isn’t sure she should trust this new Helena, but since she has no idea where she is or how she got here, Myka has had no choice but to listen to Helena’s instructions. 

(Not that it’s unpleasant listening to Helena’s voice. Myka is trying very hard not to think about that.)

But a few minutes ago, Helena’s voice was cut off mid-sentence, and Myka hasn’t heard a word from her since. The silence is disconcerting. Myka supposes the sound of gunfire would be worse, but hostiles are safely (figuratively speaking) in her comfort zone; running around this maze of a facility with absolutely no information is most definitely not. 

So it is that Myka feels relieved when she turns a corner and hears the distant sound of bullets flying. Where there are bullets, there are probably people, and where there are people, there is likely to be information. And since what Myka needs most right now is information, that is the route she takes, toward the familiar sound of combat.

The room Myka stumbles into is larger than any she has seen so far in this place. She appears to be on one of several walkways that cross over a lower level. She barely looks down to the first floor, however, as her gaze is drawn to the center of her walkway, where a man in black and white armor hides in cover, pistol in hand. Directly across from him, to Myka’s left, another group of security mechs has opened fire on the man. There’s no way to know for sure, but Myka guesses that the man is a friendly (though not necessarily trustworthy) and these mechs have also been hacked. But in any case, it isn’t Myka’s style to leave a lone man to fend for himself against a group of hostile machines, even if – and she realizes this as the man begins to glow purple, then stands and throws a ball of energy toward the mechs – the man is a biotic. 

Myka takes advantage of the opening left by the biotic throw and rushes to the man’s side. She manages to shoot two of the mechs in the head (her second favorite way of destroying synthetics; she’d prefer to drain their energy, but without a shield it would be pointless) before ducking down into cover beside the stranger. 

“B – Bering?” the man splutters, staring at her in shock. “But you’re not supposed to be – HG never said anything about…” He has a British accent as well, and Myka wonders briefly if that’s the only sort of people they hire here. The man shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “What are you doing here?”

“Good question. I’d hoped you could tell me.”

“Right, stupid question.” The man blushes, chastened. “You’ve only just woken up, correct?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’m William Wolcott, and -”

A bullet hits the railing near their heads and cuts him off. He stands long enough to fire a few shots before kneeling back down beside Myka.

“Situation must be worse than I thought, if HG has you up and running about.”

“HG?”

“Helena, head of the Lazarus Project,” Wolcott clarifies, though his words only create more questions. More bullets hit nearby and Wolcott’s head twists around, distracted. “I’d love to fill you in, but we need to get to the escape shuttles if we intend to survive this day.”

“I’m not going anywhere without information,” Myka insists. Intel is what keeps soldiers alive in the field, and without armor or quality weapons or a team she can definitely trust, intel is even more vital.

Wolcott sighs, but acquiesces. “Very well. To put it briefly, your ship was attacked and subsequently destroyed. Much of the crew escaped, but you did not. When you were brought here, you were as dead as a person can be. It… wasn’t pretty.”

He says it so casually, so easily, that it takes Myka a few moments to get past his tone to digest the words themselves. _Dead?_

Wolcott ignores the stunned look on her face and continues. “You’ve been here the last two years. HG – Helena – has been working on rebuilding you. I wasn’t sure she could do it, honestly, but evidently,” he motions vaguely toward Myka, “I stand corrected.”

Okay, so Myka wasn’t prepared for _this_ sort of intel. But then, she can’t imagine anyone would ever be ready to hear about their death and two-year reconstruction. Not that those words make any sort of sense to Myka right now. She’s going to need some time to process this.

Time that she doesn’t have right now. She clears her head, focusing instead on the situation at hand. “Right. So where exactly are we, and why the _hell_ are your security mechs attacking us?”

“I’m… not authorized to answer the former,” Wolcott says, reluctance written across his face. “As to the latter, I’m afraid I have absolutely no idea. I’m only a security officer. I was just on my way to see HG when they began shooting at me.”

The lack of information frustrates Myka, but somehow she doubts she’ll get much more from Wolcott. She isn’t Pete or Stefan; she doesn’t get vibes and she can’t tell when someone is lying. But the man seems genuine, and for now, that’ll have to do.

“So what now?”

“Now we make for the escape shuttles.” He stands to throw another ball of energy toward the enemy mechs. “If we can get out of here, that is.”

Myka grins. A few mechs, she can handle.

She stands, quickly taking in the two remaining mechs, and aims her pistol at the head of the first. A few clean shots and the mechs are down before they have time to respond.

“Any chance you could get me some clothes?” Myka says, reaching her hand out to help Wolcott off the floor. “I think I’m a little underdressed for the occasion.”

Wolcott blushes, apparently taking in her outfit – or lack thereof – for the first time. “Er – yes, I… believe HG can help you with that.”

Myka laughs. “Lead the way then.”

~~*~~

Perhaps Myka didn’t trust Eddington – he seemed suspicious from the start, and she doesn’t doubt Stefan would have called him out on numerous lies by now – but she was not expecting to see a woman put a bullet in his head mere moments after coming through the door. 

And she isn’t the only one. “HG, what – what are you doing?” Wolcott is spluttering again. He does it fairly often, Myka has noticed.

“Eliminating the traitor in our midst.” The woman tucks the pistol away and turns to look at them – or more specifically, at Myka. “Commander. Glad to see you’re still in one piece. It would have been a travesty for all my hard work to go to waste.”

If it’s possible, her voice is more beautiful in person. And yet it’s surpassed by her appearance – long, dark silken hair framing a flawless face, and dark eyes that stare directly at Myka, leaving her speechless. 

“Wait, Eddington -” Wolcott gestures to the now-dead man at their feet, still in a state of shock.

(Myka is in one as well, but of a different sort entirely.)

“I knew as soon as the communication between the Commander and I was extinguished,” Helena says. “No one else has access to this much of the facility, save only myself, and as I was trapped in D Wing, it certainly was not I.”

“You were trapped?” Myka finds her voice again. “How did you get here, then?”

“She’s HG,” Wolcott answers, as though that explains everything (and someday perhaps, it will). “She can get out of anything.”

Helena laughs and smiles affectionately at Wolcott. “Indeed. Thank you for the vote of confidence, Wolly. Now,” she turns to Myka, “we should be going. It seems you’ll be meeting our leader sooner than we expected.”

“You mean the Illusive Man?” It isn’t really a question, and Helena’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. “I know you work for Cerberus.” Wolcott had told Myka as much shortly after meeting Eddington. Myka still isn't sure how she feels about it - it's never a good idea to trust a powerful group of extremists - but since she was dead, she didn't have much say in who found her.

Helena turns back to Wolcott, one eyebrow raised. Wolcott seems to shrink back a little under her gaze, but somehow speaks clearly. “She has the right to know. I couldn’t expect her to trust me without all the pertinent information.”

“Oh, very well,” Helena says, though she still sounds displeased. “It cannot be undone now.” She looks away from Wolcott and focuses her gaze on Myka once again. “So, Commander, now that you know the truth, will you still be joining us?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Unless you can conjure up some alternative mode of transportation off this station, I’m afraid not.”

“Then I guess I’m coming with you. Not that I trust you yet,” Myka adds quickly, to clarify. “I just want answers.”

“And you’ll have them,” Helena promises. “Come, darling, our carriage awaits.”

And something inside Myka knows, when Helena smiles, that she is in over her head.


End file.
